se members were
more or less notable, who would have been suspected of a cold-blooded
murder.

Against her will Helen found herself looking at him. It seemed
unnatural; she was shocked at herself, but he attracted her
irresistibly. Her brother's murderer was handsome in a dark, serious,
unsmiling way which appealed to her strongly.

She tried to fix her attention upon the food before her, to keep up a
conversation with Sprudell, who made no pretense of listening; but just
so often as she resolved not to look again, just so often she found
herself returning Bruce Burt's questioning but respectful stare.

Helen took it for granted that his object in coming East was to meet the
"Spanish Bull-dog," but Sprudell knew better. He had seen enough of
Bruce to guess something of his fixity of purpose when aroused and
Dill's telegram confirmed it. But he had thought that, naturally, Bruce
would return to the West at once from Bartlesville to try and hold his
claims, from which, when he was ready, through a due process of law, if
necessary, Sprudell would eject him.

To find him here, perhaps already with formidable backing, for the
moment scattered Sprudell's wits, upset him; the only thing in his mind
which was fixed and real was the determination somehow to block him.

A vaguely defined plan was already forming in his mind, and he wanted to
be alone to perfect it and put it into immediate execution. Besides, he
was far from comfortable in the presence of the man who, temporarily at
least, had outwitted him, nor was he too preoccupied to observe Bruce's
obvious interest in Helen. He made the motion to go as soon as possible
and in spite of his best efforts to appear deliberate his movements were
precipitate.

Bruce found it impossible to keep his attention upon the conversation at
his own table. After his first surprise at seeing Sprudell his mind and
eyes persisted in fixing themselves upon Sprudell's companion. He could
not rid himself of the notion that somewhere he had seen her, or was it
only a resemblance? Yet surely if he ever had known a girl with a
profile like that--such hair, such eyes, such a perfect manner--he would
not have forgotten her! Was it the face of some dream-girl that had
lingered in his memory? It was puzzling, most extraordinary, but whoever
she was she looked far too nice to be dining with that--that--. His
black brows met in a frown and unconsciously his hands became fists
under the table.

He